


Violet Hour (Blue Stockings)

by JellyPanda00



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Worship, Gentle Sex, Heartbreak, Jealous!Geralt, Jealousy, M/M, Makeup Sex, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Panties, Promiscuous!Jasker, Size Difference, Size queen Jaskier, Slight feminization, Stockings, vaguely rough sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22176952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyPanda00/pseuds/JellyPanda00
Summary: Your lips are meadows,Your tongue is wine.Your laughter's liquid,But your body's pine.After Jaskier is injured, Geralt abruptly breaks off any contact between the two. One long, lonely year later, the two stumble upon each other in a familiar place and find hope to mend their broken hearts.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 884
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	Violet Hour (Blue Stockings)

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I watch tv shows and think wow. What a great chance to just write all of my kinks which no one asked for. For a vibe to go with this fic, listen to Sea wolf which is where the summary and inspiration for this fic came from! Enjoy!

"We're not friends."

"We're not friends, Jaskier."

"Not your friend."

Each time those words were said to him, he brushed them off easily, pretending that he either hadn't heard him or replying back with a quick quip of his own to prove that they were indeed friends. In fact, as far as Jaskier was concerned, he'd argue that they were the best of friends. And each time he felt as if the sharpest of nails were being hammered into his heart with those words, he'd hide his disappointment from the Witcher, not that the man would care either way.

That is, until the final time those words were repeated to him.

The ragged marks from the beast’s talons hadn’t faded yet, still requiring a clean bandage every day to keep the deep wounds from becoming infected. 

Jaskier laid in the infirmary’s bed, strumming at his lute absentmindedly and waiting until his favorite Witcher came to visit. Most of the visits consisted of Jaskier talking the man's ear off and the brute of a man grunting along every so often to show he was still listening. Jaskier didn’t mind though, despite the pain he now had a new great and mighty quest to sing of and got to stare at Geralt uninterrupted for many an hour.

He didn’t let himself fantasize often about the man, but on the third day and final day of being bedridden, he couldn’t help but let his mind drift.

They’d been naked around each other often enough in the years they’d traveled together. Geralt’s body was nothing but curves- not in the same way that a woman’s body was but curves of muscle. His arms looked like a whole valley, stomach perfectly toned and taut. His thighs were probably strong enough he could crush Jaskier in two with them without batting an eye. He was so, so much taller than him, he had learned that when he had gone too far with pestering the man when he had grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the wall of the tavern that night. When Geralt had protected Jaskier in the valley from the beast after he had been wounded, even in his state he noticed how it was such a powerful display of strength- how he had carried him to the nearest healer since Roach couldn’t make it up the trail. It was glorious, feeling how tall and strong he was up close, able to lift Jaskier like it was nothing.

And his cock…

A knock at the door drew Jaskier from his thoughts, thankfully before he could become aroused.

The white wolf waltzed into the room with his usual brand of seriousness, golden eyes blazing wildly. His nose twitched- Jaskier has noticed when he first ended up in the infirmary that the Witcher could smell the healing process, could smell an infection even.

“Oh! My best of friends is here to rid me of my boredom at last. Thank the heavens and stars above,” Jaskier smirked. “Whatever would I do without you.”

Geralt grunted, unamused by his theatrics as he sat in the chair he had claimed as his own by his bedside. "Not get hurt for starters."

Jaskier shrugged, smiling brightly. “The healer said I’ll be good as new tomorrow! At least good enough to leave this place. I’m as healthy as a horse. So, where do you think we’ll be headed next?”

“Not we.” Geralt growled, crossing his arms.

“You’re right," Jaskier pointed at him, plan already forming. "We’ll go to the town together, I’ll stay at a tavern and sing my new tales and you come back and tell me all about the adventure you just had-“

“No.”

Jaskier’s face fell. He pushed himself up in the bed, hiding his grimace at the movement the best he could under the circumstances as the wound in his abdomen pulled with the tiniest of movements. “No?”

Every now and then the two would separate for a month or two before rejoining each other. He hoped it wouldn’t be another time like that though his words were leading in that direction.

Geralt cut past the bullshit excuses as to what he was talking about immediately. “We’re not friends, Jaskier. We never were. You almost got us both killed with that hippogriff and you got seriously injured.”

Jaskier winced. It was the most Geralt had spoken at one time since they first ended up here. It almost sounded as though emotion was beginning to leak into his voice, something verging on anger.

“That’s just part of the job-“ Jaskier tried to defend himself.

“No. You’re a damn bard, not a Witcher," Geralt spoke with such finality it left no room to argue. “I’m leaving tonight for a new town, you’re not coming with me. All you do is get yourself and us into new bullshit situations. It’s ridiculous.”

“Geralt,” he breathed, the ache from the new position setting in. “You can’t mean that-“

“I do. I don’t need anyone to take care of like a child who can’t even stay out of danger.” Geralt stood, stepping away slowly. “I came today to tell you so you’d at least know. But this is where it ends, Jaskier. No more playing monster hunter.”

“Geralt!”

The man didn’t flinch, heading towards the door in a billow of dark cloth, and without so much as a final look back, the door closed behind him.

“What…” Jaskier looked around. What was he supposed to do?

His chest felt empty, hollow.

His breaths became more labored as he shouted “yeah? Well, fuck you!” Though he knew the Witcher was long gone.

The silence of the room was deafening.

“What the fuck,” he looked around as if the empty room would provide an answer. He wasn’t going to panic. So what if his friend just… broke up with him? Left him? What even was that?

His heart constricted tightly as he replayed the entire interaction over and over in his head. Had Geralt always just see him as a burden?

Then again, what was new? He’d always just be a burden. That’s why he had no other friends, why he stuck to one-time thralls rather than settling down.

Jaskier refused to let the tears fall. He wouldn’t cry because the fucking Witcher decided he didn’t want to be friends anymore. He wasn’t a child like he suggested.

Except, it hurt more than he cared to admit.

  
  
  


Traveling to that specific town again perhaps wasn’t Geralt’s exact plan but it didn’t matter really in the end. At least he already knew where to get a good drink at.

It had been an almost full year since he had left Jaskier in that infirmary. As he road Roach into the town, memories came flooding back of things he hadn’t thought about in years. How Jaskier had first approached him in that tavern to their first mishap with the elves.

His face when Geralt had so rudely told him it would be the end of their journeys together.

The first month apart, it had been all the could think about. He wondered what Jaskier had been thinking when he had said all that, he wondered where he went afterward, what he was doing without him.

As months went by it got easier to not think of the bard, but being in the familiar town was making his heart clench. He truly did miss him and his ridiculous outfits, his 

There was more than one tavern in the town. Geralt blames it on memories as he chose to enter the same one as he had been to in the past.

He almost expected to see the bard on the stage singing and strumming at that damn lute with an obnoxious tune. Instead, it was empty, no sign of the bard anywhere.

Really though, what could he be expecting, he chastised himself. That he would just walk in here and find him singing of the Witcher as he so often did after nearly a year?

Geralt’s mood seemed to sour even more. He went up to the bar, ordering the largest ale he could before taking a seat at a lone, empty table. There was still that hope. It was Jaskier's home town, he assumed since it was where he had been living before taking off with The Witcher.

Just as the sky turned violet with dusk setting on the horizon and the tavern was growing rowdier by the second, the doors burst open.

Geralt glanced up at the noise, sipping on his third ale. The drink caught in his throat at the sight, making him cough slightly, struggling to set his drink down.

Jaskier.

Not just Jaskier though- Jaskier hanging onto the arm of a burly man with long golden hair pulled back in a low bun, his lanky body wrapped around mountains of muscle.

No one commented on it, letting the two in to find their own table and take a seat. Well, for the man to take a seat and for Jaskier to wind his way around the man like a pretzel. They were directly in Geralt’s line of sight and he was enraptured by the scene taking place.

Geralt did a double-take, stunned to be sure that it was, in fact, him who had just stumbled into the same bar as him like he was being led there by destiny.

He looked good, healthy in his blue outfit with fresh-cut hair and a toothy grin. It was a relief to see he wasn’t starving or dead, one of Geralt’s worse fears would be that even though he left him, he still was ill-fated. 

Jaskier slid a spindly hand up the man’s tunic, kissing softly at his jaw. The man tightened his grab onto his ass pinching hard enough for Jaskier to swat at him with his head thrown back in a laugh.

A green monster reared its ugly head deep within his chest, a searing hot rush boiling the blood in his body at the intimacy. 

The two began to wrestle, the man grabbing the offensive arm that delivered the swat and refusing to let go no matter how much Jaskier giggled and tried to wiggle away.

Geralt forced himself to look away. He had Yennefer. Kind of. Sometimes. Not in recent history but recent enough to remember her touch. He could have any woman he wanted. And man for that matter. So why was he getting so worked up over seeing his friend happy?

Friend. The word brought a stab of guilt to his heart which he drowned out with a chug of ale.

After a while of the two horsing around, Jaskier detangled himself, heading towards the bar with a sway to his hips that showed he knew that eyes were following him. And he enjoyed it.

For reasons he couldn’t describe, Geralt stood so abruptly his thighs knocked into his table, sloshing his drink over the edge of the mug. Without thinking, he followed him, meeting the man at the bar.

Jaskier didn’t notice him until they were almost side by side, or he didn’t pretend to notice at least. With a surprised but uninterested glance tossed Geralt’s way, he ordered two drinks first before turning his attention to him. “Witcher.”

The voice sounded like magic to his lonesome ears. “Bard,” he replied thickly.

“You look well. Must be from how much easier things are without me,” he looked at him curtly.

“That’s not-“

His voice was like silk, low and soft and inviting as he spoke. “I saw you watching me earlier. You liked like you were about to shit yourself.”

Geralt cringed. So he had been spotted.

“Is it because you’re jealous?” Those piercing blue eyes scrutinized him closely with a smile of a bird that ate the canary. “He looks just like you, I think. Can’t remember his name but he’ll do for tonight.”

Geralt had been well aware of the bard’s crush on him over the years from the way he watched him in the bath and with Yen. He had never been so open about it though.

“Do this often?” Geralt teased back though the thought of Jaskier taking so many men to bed made his blood boil all over again.

Jaskier shrugged. “I was heartbroken when you left me in the infirmary like that. I went over it over and over. Was it you, was it me, it was definitely me who am I kidding.”

The words were the first thing he had said that actually sounded like the bard he had once known before he snapped back into the new character he found for himself.

And then I was just lonely.”

His hand stretched over Geralt’s forearm, stroking the skin and hair there.

Geralt jerked back, the man’s touch sending a lightning bold up his arm. “Jaskier, can we talk somewhere?”

“Mm. We could have talked a year ago, Witcher. Besides, I wouldn’t want to burden you with my presence.” The words had a thick slice of hurt to them despite the façade that was choked out around a tight throat.

With that, he grabbed the two drinks and wandered back to the man who waited for him with a grin.

Geralt needed something a lot stronger than an ale. He thought about leaving but ultimately sat back down at his table sulking and stewing in his emotions.

Every time he’d catch his eye, Jaskier would do something lewd or vulgar, grinding his hips against the man’s, kissing him deep and hard while making eye contact with Geralt.

It was driving him mad.

Finally, after an eternity of torture which he was sure he deserved, the two rose, Jaskier leading the man out with a knowing smile thrown towards Geralt in an open challenge.

He should have relaxed. Ignored the pair and moved on with his life. It wasn’t as if he should be allowed to walk back into his life with raging jealousy of his new lover and demand that he take him instead like he hadn’t abandoned him.

Still, he stood so hard his chair fell over but he couldn’t be bothered, rushing after the two before he lost them.

An inn just down the street seemed to be the destination. Geralt tore after them just as they reached the doors, throwing the man’s arm off Jaskier and pinning him against the wall, sword drawn and to his neck. "Leave," he growled low, pushing the blade in until it dug into the man's neck.

The second he nodded, Geralt released the man who stumbled away with one last glance to Jaskier.

“That was awfully dramatic.” Jaskier laughed.

Geralt didn’t have time for the bards jokes. He grabbed his arm, pulling him so they were eye to eye.

“I left.”

Jaskier looked around, confusion evident. “Left what? Your sword or something?”

“No!” Geralt grumbled, cursing whatever god thought it be funny to put him in a situation requiring him to explain his feelings into words. “I left a year ago because you got hurt.”

Jaskier stiffened in his arms, trying to step away. “Really Geralt, I was about to have a good night I’m sorry that I teased you-“

“Would you just listen? I was trying to protect you. All you do is get hurt when you’re with me so I thought…”

Jaskier snorted. “You thought breaking my heart and running away without letting me speak would save me from getting hurt.”

Well, when said like that it did sound rather stupid. 

“If you haven’t noticed Geralt, I get in trouble with or without you around, I had to ask you to be my bodyguard to save me from problems that I caused for a reason.” Jaskier calmed down some and quietly whispered: “I missed you.”

Geralt surged forward, grabbing the man’s face in soft kiss, letting their lips melt together and tongues slowly explore new areas before pulling back. “Let me make it up to you.”

Jaskier nodded breathlessly, letting Geralt take the lead into the inn to pay for a room. The entire time all the bard could think was holy shit. Holy shit holy shit. Nothing was real anymore. It was like something out of a wet dream- Geralt of Regis showing up to get jealous and broody, roughing up the man he wasn’t supposed to be with and then leading him into a hostel to undoubtedly fuck him senseless.

The entire night felt like a fever dream from the second he found the Geralt look-alike to the time the real-life White Wolf was staring him down like he wanted to eat him after a year apart.

The second the door closed behind them, strong arms wrapped their way around his back, pulling him into a strong embrace, walking him back to the bed until it hit the back of his knees, knocking him down to sit on it.

And then oh sweet gods Geralt was stripping, pulling off his armor and layers of clothing until he was down to nothing but those leather trousers that left nothing to the imagination while staring seductively at Jaskier.

Jaskier followed suit, throwing his shirt and vest off over his head before his ears turned pink as he remembered what he was wearing underneath his own pants.

“You know,” Jaskier stood suddenly. “I think it best if I finish undressing in the restroom. Yes? Yes, good.”

Before he could take off, Geralt grabbed hold of his wrist, stopping him in an evident no.

“Alright, what if we blow out the candles then? We don’t have to see to do this.”

“I want to see you.”

And oh did that simple phrase make it feel as though Jaskier was made of jelly.

“I… I want to see you too but… I’m wearing something I don’t want you to see,” he said in a rush, blubbering the truth out like a fountain. “It was fine when it was a stranger and honestly they always love it but now that I’ve bedded the real and true Geralt of Rivia, I… I can’t.”

Geralt didn’t say a word, instead, looking at him expectantly until Jaskier lost it, returning to his babbling and trying to build up the courage to take his pants off.

“I swear Witcher if you laugh at me I will put my clothes back on and never speak to you again,” he warned, undoing the belt that kept the pants snug on his hips. Geralt rubbed soothing circles on his wrist in silent assurance to which he shut his eyes quickly, pushing his pants down and off before he could see the Witcher’s expression.

Had his eyes been open he would have seen the man’s eyes glow bright with lust. Jaskier was beautiful, miles of fair skin, marked only by the old love bites of former lovers, too fresh to fade just yet and the occasional mole or freckle. He couldn’t wait to bite and suck his own fresh marks over those to replace whoever thought themselves special enough to mark his bard. And sitting just so on his hips were women’s panties with matching blue stockings starting just above the knee. The fabric wasn’t meant for a penis to sit in comfortably, but damn did the hard on Jaskier was sporting that caused the fabric to tent look enticing.

The sunset out of the windows gave the violet backdrop, letting in the darkest of golden hues to envelop his skin in the dying sun. 

Hesitantly, Jaskier opened his eyes, blinking up at Geralt. “Say something.”  
Geralt only grunted, pulling him into another kiss, pushing him back until his back was flat against the hard bed and the Witcher was towering over him and trapping him against the bed. It was a heady rush to be able to buck and push against the man and him not budge.

“Beautiful,” he whispered breathily.

Jaskier felt his face heat up. Geralt ran his fingers over his bare sides, stroking over his skins until he felt him shiver before grabbing the satin panties and pulling the side, letting it snap back with an audible pop.

Jaskier searched Geralt’s face before slowly reaching up, allowing him to do something he’s wanted to do since day one, pulling at the strap in the pile of flowing white hair to free it, letting it fall out of the ponytail and down over his face and shoulders.

Geralt let him touch his face for a moment before pressing kisses down his chin and neck before finding a spot to suck a deep, hard bruise into. Jaskier squealed a little at the scratch of his stubble, pushing on his shoulders and urging him down lower.  
Every spot Geralt came across that a past lover left, he’d bite down on it sucking as hard as he could until Jaskier either pushed him off or he covered the spot completely. Even the ones that were faded he would go over until Jaskier was marked by him and him alone.

Jaskier didn’t think he could get any harder by the time the Witcher had made it to his thighs, pleading words leaving his lips. “Please, please just fuck me.”

His cock was straining against the fabric of the panties, trying to free itself.  
“No one else,” Geralt grumbled. He ran his fingers over a particularly harsh bite from just the other night, pressing his thumb into the bruise before biting down on it.

Jaskier whined at the pain but it went straight to his cock. He needed Geralt to get on with it already. He pulled his own underwear to the side, taking his dick into his hand to relieve the unbearable ache in his groin.

Geralt sat up, a wild look in his golden eyes and grabbed Jaskier’s wrist, pinning it to the bed. Thankfully he didn’t make him wait, licking a long strip up to the head before swallowing him down.

Jaskier wrapped his thighs around Geralt’s neck, trying desperately not to buck into the soft, wet heat.

Experienced fingers pulled the panties to the side, pulling his cheeks apart and slipping a finger between them.

“I… I’m ready,” Jaskier whimpered. “I was ready before. Before I went to the tavern.”  
Geralt pushed a finger into his tight hole. “Already wet for me?”

Jaskier seized up, cock twitching at the feminine term, nodding enthusiastically as he didn’t trust his mouth to speak properly.

Geralt gave him a sexy smirk, all teeth, and mirth. “Good boy.”

“Gods Geralt you can’t say things like- where are you going?”

Geralt pushed himself off the bed, kicking off his pants and letting his own hard cock out.

He grabbed the bard by his blue-clad ankle, dragging him across the bed so his hips were lined up at the edge, legs dangling off.

Jaskier felt exposed, though Geralt was just as much on display as him. It was too open, too new. The Witcher laid himself back on top over Jaskier, allowing their bodies to cover each other, guiding his cock into his already slick, stretched hole.

The bard gasped at the full feeling. It was as if he was truly complete- a mushy sentiment to feel but he wasn’t able to linger on it long before he was truly impaled on the long, thick member.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” the confession slipped from his lips before he could fully think it through. “I dreamt about it for years now. How you’d feel inside me.”

Geralt leaned back down, mouthing at his neck again and whispering into the skin. “I shouldn’t have left. I’m sorry.”  
Jaskier gave a testing roll of his hips, happy to note the pleasure the Witcher’s face contorted in at the movement. “Move,” he ordered softly, delighted when Geralt took the order to heart, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in roughly.

In the midst of trying to wrap his legs around the man’s waist, one of his stockings got hooked on something on the bed, but Jaskier couldn’t care less at the audible rip of the fabric when he finally hooked his legs around those strong hips. 

The new angle let Geralt reach deeper, hitting his sweet spot with every thrust and with every thrust Jaskier moaned like he was being paid for it, one hand fisting the sheets and the other wound tight into locks of white.

In his fantasies, he always pictured Geralt as a quiet lover, and he was for the most part, but as his thrusts began to speed up, riding Jaskier for all he’s worth, his grunts turned into much softer moans which only spurred the bard on, doing anything he could to hear those sweet sounds again.

Again, he tried to reach down for his cock, feeling as though he might explode at any second if he didn’t but Geralt beat him to it, grabbing his hand away and pinning it above his head.

“Want you to come on my cock,” he whispered his wish into the bard’s ear, tangling their fingers together in an embrace.

“Okay! Okay,” Jaskier cried. He had never done such a thing before but he would do anything for Geralt, anything he asked. And at that moment, with his whole body feeling as though he was on fire, he thought it might be possible.

He wasn’t going to last much longer, Geralt realized, fucking desperately into him. “Cum for me.”

Whether it was the order or his prostate being abused with every thrust, he’ll never be sure, but Jaskier did as Geralt asked as if on command, spurts of white-hot cum staining his new panties and stomach.

With one last kiss, Geralt pushed a moan into his mouth, following suit close behind.

When he pulled back, there was a hazy look in the bard’s blue eyes. “I think that might have been the best sex I’ve ever had,” he breathed.

Geralt rolled off of him, trying to catch his breath. The constant rumblings of the bard offered him a comfort he hadn’t heard in many months, something he didn’t think he would ever miss.

“Geralt?”

The Witcher opened his eyes, looking over at Jaskier. He was a sight to see, hair wild and fresh bruises forming over his entire body, a run in the pretty stockings he bore and panties ruined that he was fighting to get out of.

“Don’t leave again. I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if I have to.”

Geralt smiled, feeling peace deep in his bones. “I believe you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me about The Witcher on twitter! @Jellypanda00


End file.
